the pants off me. I’ll lend it to you.”

“Can’t be bothered. Well, I’m off.”

Hamish hovered in the doorway wondering whether to dare ask her to look after the dog and cat, but then decided that if he was simply going to search around the moorland and the foothills, he could take them with him.

The balmy weather had ceased, and Sutherland was gearing itself up for the long northern winter. Hamish hurried back to the police station, knowing he had better set off quickly – the sun went down at four in the afternoon.

¦

Once the animals were put in the Land Rover along with lunch packed for all of them, Hamish drove up into the hills and along heathery little-used tracks, stopping occasionally at outlying crofts to ask if they had seen any campers.

He stopped for a picnic lunch. After his pets had been fed, he put them in the Land Rover and decided to roam across the moorland on foot before the light faded.

But all was peaceful and quiet apart from the sad piping of the curlews. Soon the shadow of the mountains fell over the landscape. He returned to the Land Rover, got in, and stared out at the fading countryside. His ruse was not working. There had been no more attempts on his life.

Back to Lochdubh, where a letter was lying on the doormat. He walked in, sat down, and opened it. It was from Elspeth. ‘This is just to say goodbye,’ she had written. ‘Let me know if anything happens. I’ve been called back but can come straight back up again if you’ve got any news. Elspeth.’

He looked at it sadly. No ‘Love, Elspeth,’ not even ‘Best wishes, Elspeth.’

Did he really want to marry her now? And why did he nurse that odd hankering for Priscilla? Why did he keep hoping that one day she would thaw out and become as passionate as the woman of his dreams?

The kitchen door opened and the fisherman Archie walked in. “We was coming back this morning, Hamish,” he said, “and I got a good look at thon folly from the sea. There’s a big chunk o’ the cliff has fallen and it’s perched there like a toy castle balancing on someone’s outstretched hand. It’s now only got the lip o’ the cliff to support it.”

“I’ll phone up Andrew Gentle and warn him,” said Hamish. “Sit down, Archie. Want some of that wine?”

“Na. I don’t know how thae actors survive on that bitter stuff. I thocht yours had gone off but they had some at the rehearsal and it was like drinking acid. I’ll take a dram.”

Hamish poured him a measure of whisky and then, after some hesitation, poured one for himself.

“You know what puzzles me, Archie?” said Hamish. “Everyone up here knows everyone else’s business. All I want to know is if someone’s seen a tall strange woman about, and no one’s seen anything at all.”

“Gamekeeper Geordie saw Priscilla and thon Irishman having a picnic,” said Archie. “You chust going tae stand by and let that happen? They was up by the Beithe Burn.”

“Archie, Priscilla can do what she likes.”

¦

When Archie had left, Hamish found Andrew Gentle’s card and phoned to warn him about the perilous condition of the castle.

“There’s nothing I can do about it,” said Andrew testily. “I am sure if the damn thing falls into the sea, the insurance company will put it down to an act of God. I’ll come up in the spring, hire an architect, and see if anything can be done.”

It was only when he had rung off that Hamish realised he still had the key.

He could not settle down for the evening. He felt restless. He wanted to banish Priscilla’s bright image from a corner of his brain. He decided to take a run down to Inverness. It was late-night shopping, and if he hurried he could be there in time. He needed some new casual clothes.

He took Sonsie and Lugs with him. There were plenty of shops in Strathbane, the nearer town, but he wanted to get well away from Lochdubh.

But by the time he had battled round the crowded shops and bought new shirts and trousers, he was longing to get back to the peace of home. He bought kebabs for himself, the dog, and the cat, and fed them in the quiet street by the river where he had parked before setting out for home.

He decided to take the old way over the Struie Pass and whistled cheerfully as he zigzagged round the hairpin bends into Sutherland. He had just reached the famous viewpoint when the engine coughed and died. The petrol light was flashing empty. Hamish stared at it, puzzled. He had filled the tank just before arriving in Inverness. He got out with his torch, searched under the vehicle, and then shone the torch back along the road. There was no sign of any petrol leakage.

He opened up the petrol cap and put a dipstick in. The stick came out dry. He took a four-gallon tank of petrol out of the back of the Land Rover and poured it into the tank.

Still puzzled, he drove on. At the police station, he lifted his pets down from the vehicle, took the key down from the gutter, opened the kitchen door, and switched on the light.

“I don’t think you pair need anything more to eat tonight,” said Hamish. “Off to bed.”

He decided to have a cup of coffee. Coffee never stopped him from sleeping.

Hamish was about to open the fridge door when he glanced down at the floor. Soot from the stove had covered a little bit of the floor in a fine black layer, and in the middle was the faint imprint of a shoe.

He stared at it for a long moment. He guessed the wearer would take size seven shoes. That was the size of the shoeprints on the back stairs of the castle. Size seven, British, was size nine, American – and what was that in centimetres? Did anyone in Britain know their shoe size in centimetres?

Hamish carefully lifted the lid of the stove. He had left, as usual, sticks and kindling and firelighter. What he usually did was just toss a match in and replace the lid.

He bent down and sniffed. There was a smell of diesel.

He backed off and whistled to his pets. “Going for a walk,” he said, “and fast.”

He hurried along to the Italian restaurant, where Willie was wiping the tables for the night. Hamish rapped on the door. “We’re closed,” said Willie.

“It’s urgent,” said Hamish. “I need to phone headquarters. There’s a bomb in the police station.”

“Come in,” said Willie. “Michty me!”

Hamish took out his mobile phone. “Willie, start evacuating the houses around the police station. Do it quick.”

Willie ran off. Hamish got a sleepy Jimmy on his mobile number.

“Jimmy, get the bomb squad. I think someone’s put a fertiliser bomb in the stove in my kitchen. I’m in the Italian restaurant. Willie Lamont’s gone to evacuate the houses nearby. I’m off to help him.”

“Be with you fast,” said Jimmy, and rang off.

¦

The night was frosty so Willie ushered several families into the restaurant. Mrs. Wellington, who had been telephoned for help, had taken the rest of those considered to be in the danger area up to the manse.

Hamish fretted and waited, only relaxing when he heard the sound of the sirens coming over the hills towards Lochdubh.

He walked along to the police station to meet Jimmy, who was standing there with an army bomb disposal unit.

“Tell the sergeant here about it,” said Jimmy.

Hamish described the footprint on the sooty floor and the smell of diesel.

“Any wires?” asked the sergeant.

“No. I looked.”

Two of his men went inside the police station. Hamish turned to Jimmy. “It was the same size as the footprint we saw in the castle.”

“Damn and blast it!” said Jimmy. “If this murderer thinks you know something, doesn’t he think it odd you’d keep it to yourself?”

“He may think Irena told me something that I haven’t yet figured out,” said Hamish.

The men came out, carrying something in a plastic forensic bag.

“Here it is,” said one. “A fertiliser bomb. Nice little homemade thing. All you need is newspaper, chemical

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